


Home for Thanksgiving

by oesterheld



Series: misc character backstory studies [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Period-Typical Racism, Racist Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:13:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oesterheld/pseuds/oesterheld
Summary: Beebo goes home for the first time since he left.
Relationships: torin stonehelm/teressa stonehelm
Series: misc character backstory studies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923016





	Home for Thanksgiving

Torin

**I’m coming home for Thanksgiving.**

**Announcing it so you don’t say it was**

**a complete surprise when you ignore**

**my text.**

_ Delivered _

Beebo sent the text two days ago, and still it doesn’t say  _ read _ . Maybe Torin wouldn’t be so annoyed with him all the time if he didn’t ignore every attempt at communication he makes. Just a thought. Now, Beebo is standing in front of the oversized doors to their massive house, his toyota corolla parked in the driveway in front of their four door garage. He thinks about knocking, and raises his fist to use the ornate door knocker; should he knock if it’s his childhood home? He lets his hand fall and tries the knob. Locked. Of course it is, Beebo would be disappointed if it wasn’t. He knocks.

Mrs. Valentina opens the door. She’s getting old, but refuses to retire. She’s always been Beebo’s favorite part of living in this house; she’s like a grandmother to the family, and with their granddad the way he is, she’s greatly appreciated— at least by Beebo. He doesn’t think Torin or dad give her enough credit or love. It’s things like this that made him stay for so long, and that make him feel guilty for leaving.

“Beebo! Welcome home.” Mrs. Valentina gives her warm, welcoming smile as she opens the door for him. It makes him feel less nervous, which he’s grateful for. “Your brother will be here in an hour or so, and your father is in his office.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Val.” Beebo bends down to give her a tight hug, a common occurrence between the two. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, son.” She shuts the door behind them and walks up the stairs, leading Beebo to his dad’s office. “Is your father expecting you?”

“Probably not. I texted, but you know how he is.” Beebo shrugs.

“You should have Emailed.” She critiques.

“No one sends Emails anymore.” Beebo doesn’t, and he thinks he’s the staple for every person his age.

“You’re wrong about that, and even if you weren’t, Mr. Stonehelm still sends them, so you should accommodate.” She’s a voice of reason in Beebo’s mess of a life. He’s happier to see her and hear her voice every second that passes.

“Maybe he should accommodate me for once.” Beebo grumbles like a child. Mrs. Valentina doesn’t argue. She probably agrees, but she doesn’t talk bad about her employers. They arrive outside the french doors to his dad’s office. Beebo hates those doors. Why are they glass if he’s just going to cover them with curtains all the time? The bastard wouldn’t let anyone into his office after the murder, not even Mrs. Valentina. He just shut out any light from that part of his life.

Mrs. Val turns to Beebo and lowers her voice since they’re just outside of the office, “You look good,  _ hijo.  _ Better than I’ve seen in a long time.” She grabs his face with no tact whatsoever, but Beebo feels her love in the gesture. Last time she saw him, he was drunk and leaving home with no plan to return, ever.

“I feel good, Mrs. Val. Thank you.” He smiles back, and she nods. She opens the french door and notifies his dad of his arrival, and he’s permitted in.

The office is cleaner than before he left. Maybe he finally started letting Mrs. Val in to tidy up, or maybe he’s just finally returned to his clean self. The books on the shelves are in order and the surfaces are dusted. Finally, Beebo’s eyes land on his dad’s face.

He’s so much older. Beebo was only gone three or so months, but his father looks like he’s aged years. A lump forms in his throat at the sight. He swallows it. He’ll die before he cries in front of his dad.

“What do you want?” Andrew Stonehelm doesn’t even look up from his laptop. His fingers don’t glide around the keyboard, though, so he’s listening. He’s just not looking at Beebo. Beebo understands why.

“I’m here for Thanksgiving.” Beebo tries to keep a smile in his voice, but the lump is interfering more than he’d like. The longer he looks, the more grey he sees in his dad’s hair. He looks at his shoes instead.

“You know you don’t do that.” His father sighs, and Beebo expected this. Maybe he should have sent an Email, maybe that would have been easier than this.

“Maybe I should this year. It would be nice to catch up. Tell you guys about college. And stuff.” Dad is so intimidating. Why is he so intimidating? He shouldn’t be.

Mr. Stonehelm gives another great sigh, as if Beebo’s presence is draining the life out of him second by second. He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes the way he does when he’s stressed and annoyed. “I’m busy.” He looks down at his work. Beebo just stands there. What does he say? Does he go back to the dorm, forget this happened? The lump grows bigger, and Beebo shrinks smaller. His frame melts and suddenly he’s a kid again, with his dad waving him away when all he wanted was affection. Dad’s voice stops the shrinking, though, “Just give me a couple hours and I’ll be downstairs.”

Beebo gives a curt nod and swiftly exits the office, letting his eyes well up as he walks down the hall. No tears fall. He’s never really been the crying type, that was Andy’s gig. He reaches the stairs that go down in a circle to the foyer, and the banister that overlooks it.

The carpet and the woodwork had all been replaced, but the feeling stayed. The darkness of night, overlooking the black masses that were too wide to be the shape of bodies, but were bodies nevertheless. The banister, painted black now over the beautiful oak finish, behind which Beebo stood, gripping for dear life until morning. He almost trips down the stairs, he flies down them so fast. That’s just how he travels down them, since it happened.

Once he gets into the kitchen, the lump has disappeared and he readies himself to sit with Mrs. Val and wait for Torin’s arrival, but when he walks in, he’s greeted by the familiar face.

“I got your text and came early. Why are you here?” Torin looks annoyed. Mrs. Valentina leaves the room, giving them space to talk.

“I sent that two days ago. I just want to spend time with you.” Beebo builds the defenses for Torin’s berating.

“Bullshit. What do you want? There’s nothing here for you, I thought you made that clear when you left.” Torin acts like Beebo’s leaving was a personal offense, as if he’d even noticed the missing presence.

“You guys are here. I want to hang out with my dad and my brother for Thanksgiving, is that so much to ask?” He’s getting pissed off in the way only Torin can achieve, but he tries to quell it.

“Frankly, yes. We have lives. I have a family, they’re going to be here in,” he checks his watch, “fifteen minutes. You can’t be all…  _ you _ . I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Again, I texted days ago, you  _ could have expected me. _ I’d love to see your family! I haven’t seen Teressa in forever!” Beebo genuinely would like that. Teressa’s so good. She’s out of Torin’s league.

“You saw her right before you left, Bee, you were blackout drunk.” Torin rubs his eyes the same way dad does and wow, that’s the first time Beebo’s ever seen him do that. It almost distracts him from the thing Torin just said. “I’m not asking you to change. You’ve proven enough that that’s impossible. I’m just asking that you go back to your new enabling college friends and not ruin Thanksgiving for me and mine.” 

At that moment, a little girl with beautiful blonde hair comes barreling through the kitchen to give Beebo a great bear hug. “Uncle Beebo!”

“Hey, Mel! It’s so good to see you!” Beebo hugs her back and lifts her little feet off the ground. Melody Stonehelm is so much bigger than he remembers; she must be close to turning five now.

Torin looks like he’s about to tear his hair out when Teressa follows behind their daughter, joining the hug as much as she can in her third trimester. “Hey.” She doesn’t quite know what to make of him but he doesn’t smell like booze, so that’s something.

“Teressa! You look like you’re about ready to pop!” Beebo marvels at the pregnant belly.

“Certainly feels like it.” She chuckles. Her hair is identical to Melody’s, but it’s up in a neat bun at the back of her head. She’s as gorgeous as always, her kind smile warming up the room from the previous conversation. “Are you staying for dinner?”

Torin starts to speak but Beebo speaks louder, “Of course! Can’t miss out on Thanksgiving with the best girls around!” He roughs up Mel’s hair to emphasize. “Where’s Becca?”

“She’s still in the car, for whatever reason. She’s coming.” Teressa takes a seat at the kitchen island and all of a sudden, Beebo notices all the prep work Mrs. Val did before he arrived. There’s food in the oven and ingredients in various stages on the counters. He didn’t notice because the kitchen smelled like this all the time when he was younger, and it looked like this every night. He feels a wave of nostalgia, especially seeing Teressa sitting there on that stool. Teressa’s a lot like their mom was. He’s noticed that many times before but he doesn’t know if Torin’s ever noticed. Her presence is comforting.

The oven timer beeps and Mrs. Valentina rejoins them in the kitchen, greeting Teressa with a kiss and taking a casserole dish with tin foil over it out of the oven. Torin stews in his sour mood on the other side of the kitchen island while Teressa and Mrs. Valentina start chatting about the food. Becca, Torin’s eldest at sixteen, joins them shortly. Beebo leans toward their conversation and away from Torin, hoping to slide under his radar for the rest of the night so he doesn’t find a reason to kick him out of Thanksgiving.

Eventually, Andrew Stonehelm comes out of hiding to join the family downstairs. Beebo can tell it’s taking all his strength not to hole himself up all night to avoid interaction. Beebo is grateful. Everyone helps set the table and they all sit around it, with the exception of Mrs. Val, who will sit once everyone is served. They all silently dig in until Teressa speaks first.

“So, Beebo! How’s University of Washington?” Torin looks between the two as if he’s walking on eggshells, like Beebo will go off any second. It annoys Beebo to no end, but he tries to ignore it.

“Great! I love the stuff we’re doing in class; it’s good to have some busywork. My roommates are pretty cool, too. I think I lucked out on that front.” Beebo chuckles. Teressa knits her eyebrows.

“You live, what, twenty minutes away? Why don’t you just stay here instead of paying for housing?” Teressa asks the question Beebo prepared for.

“I want the  _ college experience _ ! Can’t get that driving to and from my childhood house.” It’s a clever disguise for the real reason, a disguise which Teressa takes without question. Torin, though, knows better. He doesn’t speak against Beebo. He’s too afraid of the Beebo Bomb.

“Well, I guess I can’t argue with that.” She laughs. “So, your roommates?” 

“Pretty great, as far as roommates go. I butted heads with one guy, an edgy asshole who- sorry, forgive my language- who still hasn’t left his emo phase.” He glances at Becca, who’s just leaving hers now. 

“Sometimes it isn’t a phase.” Becca pipes in with no real intention. She knows hers is a phase, but she knows of plenty of adults who still act like edgy teens on 2012 tumblr.

“Yeah, well, it should be. Emo doesn’t suit  _ anyone. _ ” Beebo cringes at the mental image. Black ripped skinny jeans and scruffy fringes… he doesn’t understand why that style is so popular. It seems like a lot of work for little reward.

“Says you, Mr. All I Wear Are Sports Hoodies and Muscle Tees.” Becca shoots back. Beebo grips his heart in mock hurt.

“You wound me. You’ve certainly gotten snarkier since I last saw you.” Beebo winks. Becca laughs. Kids love Beebo, he’s the fun uncle-- most times. Becca’s old enough to be hurt by Beebo’s alcoholism, but she tries not to think about it, because he’s kind more times than not.

“Learned from the snarkiest.” Becca replies, and Beebo looks to Torin, then to Teressa, then around the table. Everyone’s looking at him.

“Oh, you little weasel!” He says when he realizes she was referring to him. He flings a pinch of bread roll at her and she squeals as she dodges. She pinches off a bit of roll to retaliate, but Torin puts his hand over hers to deescalate the situation. She complies.

“Anyway, how have you been? Still working?” Beebo steers the conversation back toward Teressa.

“Gotta stay on my feet ‘til the baby comes.” She replies and Beebo makes a noise of disbelief. “I know, I know! But you know how maternity leave is, I have to save as much time as I can for after the baby’s here so I don’t have to shove him in a daycare so soon.” She is bitter about the wage gap, as one would be.

“Well, I’ve got plenty of freetime for the next couple years with what I’m doing, so if you need any help…” He trails off when he sees her reaction to his proposal to help with the baby. She looks almost apologetic, and he realizes, oh, of course she doesn’t trust me. Why would she trust me any more than Torin does? She’s walking on eggshells too, she’s just better at hiding it. Beebo’s heart sinks, but he maintains his smile and opens his mouth to change the subject.

A jingling bell rings on the wall behind him, interrupting his thought. Granddad is calling. Mrs. Valentina puts her utensils down and gets up to see to his troubles. The table company continues light conversation for another few minutes before a struggle can be heard upstairs. Shouting from granddad, insistent attempts to calm him from Mrs. Valentina. Beebo’s dad, who’s been silently eating since dinner started, gets up to go help, but Beebo is faster, offering to go instead. He climbs the stairs and walks through the halls, following the sound of his granddad’s shouts. He gets to the open door within seconds.

Mrs. Valentina is trying to hold him down in his bed and he’s shouting at her, struggling against her. He’s not permitted to leave bed for another few days since the surgery he’d had a couple weeks ago, Beebo remembers from the kitchen chat he’d had with Teressa. He joins Mrs. Val and easily pushes his granddad into bed.

“Beorhisidge! Tell the spik to sod off--”

“Don’t call her that.” Beebo waves Mrs. Valentina away. She shouldn’t have to deal with this old, hateful man. No one should. The Stonehelm family has been waiting for him to die for years, and he refuses to be put into hospice. “What are you doing, granddad?” 

“Going downstairs! It’s Thanksgiving! I want to see Andy. I haven’t seen him in so long.” His voice comes out in a rasp, like nails on a chalkboard.

“Andy’s not here.” Beebo tries to reason. Granddad’s been doing this for years now. He’s so fucking old.

“Figures he wouldn’t show on Thanksgiving… your mother babied him and now he’s a pansy fag. Doesn’t show any pride in his country, even on Pilgrim Day.” Granddad spits. It makes Beebo more sad than angry, which is very new.

“Granddad, he’s dead.” He sighs as he tries to tuck him in, preparing for various reactions. Granddad pauses, then grabs Beebo’s wrist with all the strength he has in his skeletal hands.

“Don’t lie to me, son. You know I don’t like those pranks you pull. Where’s your brother? I don’t blame you for his shortcomings… it’s your mother’s fault—”

“It’s not— Andy’s not coming, and neither is mom. You aren’t supposed to leave bed. Do you want Mrs. Valentina to bring you some food?” Beebo doesn’t want to be in this room anymore. He hates this fucking man.

“I don’t want that fucking beaner to bring me  _ anything— _ ”

“OKAY, granddad, alright.” Beebo shuts him up. He doesn’t want to sit there and listen to his granddad talk about Mrs. Valentina like that. It’s like he’s using the lord’s name in vain or something, if Beebo was so religious. He was sad, but the familiar anger comes quicker now. Ah, there it is. “I’m not going to sit in here and listen to you call Mrs. Valentina names all night, so if you could just lay down and shut up, I can go back downstairs and we can keep pretending you don’t exist. Yeah?”

Granddad just stares in disbelief. Then, “See, your pansy brother would never have the balls to stand up to me. That’s why he didn’t show.”

It’s Beebo’s turn to stare in disbelief. Fucking hell. He aggressively finishes tucking granddad in and stands up straight, towering over the frail old man. He walks around the massive bed to the string attached to the bells downstairs and ties it up, out of his granddad’s reach. “I’m leaving. Try not to die on Thanksgiving.” He goes back downstairs.

Dinner continues as it started, with easy, light conversation. Small talk. Beebo finds it off putting, just enough so that he is aching for a drink. He keeps a can of seltzer water in hand. The motion helps. It doesn’t make him feel any less gawked at, but at least he doesn’t feel so damn thirsty for something he can’t have.

As the small party winds down, Torin, Teressa, and the girls say their goodbyes and slowly leave, packing most of the leftovers into the back of their car. Beebo gives everyone a goodbye hug and the tall, intimidating doors finally shut, with Beebo still inside. He considers staying the night, but the thought fills him with dread, and he quickly does away with it.

Still, he carries himself up the stairs and grips the now black bannister. It’s been black for five years now, but still, the slick of the paintjob surprises him. Beebo finds himself standing in that spot on the overlook, gripping the railing, looking down at the foyer. The lights are still on, and he can see Torin’s car start out the window, headlights blinking on against the black of the night. Beebo just stands, looks. He used to clamor up and down these stairs every other day. He hasn’t been here in so many months.

The front door creeps open and Torin slips back through, seeing Beebo up on that overlook instantly. He sighs. They both know why he’s standing there. Torin makes his way up the stairs, standing beside Beebo.

“Aren’t you leaving?” Beebo sees the headlights outside still on.

“I told Teressa to wait up a sec. I wanted to talk.” Torin’s voice is low, serious. Softer than it was all night, like he’s starting to let go of the idea that Beebo’s a bomb waiting to go off. Beebo doesn’t respond, letting him speak. “I’m not sorry for the way I greeted you. I’m sure you understand where I’m coming from.” Beebo shakes his head and pushes off the bannister, bracing for the big brother talk he’d gotten a million times before. “But tonight was good. You were good. Whatever college is doing to you, it’s a lot more positive than I thought it would be. My college experience was not one that whips people into shape, so you can imagine what I anticipated.” Beebo returns to the bannister, scanning Torin’s face. He looks apologetic, despite his denial to apologize.

Torin continues, “Please don’t fuck it up this time, Beebo. We need you.” This is the most vulnerability Torin had shown since the funeral, and even then, he was already constructing his walls.  _ We. _ His dad needs him, too. Torin gives Beebo the firm Stonehelm back pat and trudges down the stairs and out the door before Beebo can feel the lump forming in his throat again. Beebo watches the car headlights pull out and away, down the street. He checks the time on one of the many old ass clocks on the walls. 11:37 PM.

_ We need you. _

Beebo lets out a shaky breath and carries himself down the stairs and through the door like Torin had done minutes before. He gets in his car, turns it on, and starts driving home.

It’s times like these, staring out at the dimly lit residential street through his windshield, that he wishes tears would come. His eyes remain dry; Andy was always better at that.  
  
  
  
  



End file.
